It’s been ages since I felt the way I do now about running; a feeling I’d describe as quasi-euphoric. I won’t go into any detail here about the trials and tribulations of the past 12-18 months. If you’re really interested in such long-winded stories, part one is here and part two is here. The long and short of it is that I was becoming convinced by the middle of last year that I might just have to hang up my runners for good, with severe nerve-related pain, discomfort and tingling, resulting in an inability to run more than a couple kilometers at a time.
I’d already come to the conclusion that ultimate was no longer a good idea due to a minor tear of my left medial meniscus about three years ago, and was really thinking I’d be almost completely focused on cycling for my endorphin fix. The problem with that is that I just love running. I like cycling well enough, but in my heart I am a runner. It’s cheap, easy and I feel better when I’m on a good run than I do at almost any other time. Whether I’m chasing people and a plastic disc in cleats, hitting the trails or pavement or ramping up for speedwork or hills, running gives me a fix like no other exercise.